


The Prince that Love Forgot

by FandomTrashbag



Category: Hellboy (Movies 2004-2008)
Genre: Depression, Grief/Mourning, Loneliness, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:43:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomTrashbag/pseuds/FandomTrashbag
Summary: Nuada develops a consuming emptiness to make up for the overwhelming amount of emotions Nuala shares with him.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Prince that Love Forgot

**Author's Note:**

> This is short.  
> This is a little depressing.  
> The idea of the psychic connection always made me wonder how they would develop into such polar opposites. Two sides, same coin and all that. Basic idea is that Nuala feels so much that Nuada never has on his own.

Their connection always made experiencing life different; it made experiences different. They each got to feel each other physically, yes, but there was always an undercurrent of emotion, as well. They were two halves of the same being in almost every sense.

The first time was when they were just children. His sister’s first love was a bird. It was small and blue (it’s always been blue) and she felt such overwhelming love he cried. He felt her pride when its wing healed and it flew away healthy. He liked these feelings, but found it difficult for him to duplicate. He felt them best through the filter of her.

Through someone else, he learned the potential of experiences, never having touched them himself. She would gain his wisdom, his physical hardiness, his prowess on the battlefield. Together, they would learn to keep secrets, eventually from everyone but each other. These connections would shape their years. Somehow, she would remain soft, caring, and compassionate. Slowly, he would harden, his insides turning to the stone that would eventually consume him entirely when he crossed the veil.

In all the years, he moderated her emotions as they trickled down into his subconscious. He would learn to live with her happiness, her love, her sorrow, and her grief, all the while carrying his own burdens of darkness too deep for her to feel them. To spare her, he would always, always allow her to take the emotional reins of their lives.

He knew she felt hurt by his hatred and distrust. She could feel his blood hot with rage. Killing their father filled him with an immeasurable grief, but one she knew he felt was justified. His people were dying, his family all but gone, and he was the last soldier willing to fight for them all. Things would only get more complicated as events unfolded.

Things got very complicated when she fell in love.

Often, he lay in his darkness beneath the city and was hit by things he had not felt in some time. He could feel her deep concern for this newfound family. Perhaps worst of all was the echo of her pounding heart against his every time her Abraham was near. The fluttering had been known to wake him. There must have been times when her love was gone, for then he felt a nagging ache, a need.

In him, it was a hollow feeling of longing that reminded him of how empty he could be. Only when the ache turned to hurt would he venture to do something to try and quell it. The void in his chest could not, would not, heal but it was possible to forget. If only for a few fleeting moments.

He would seek his solace wherever he could find it, taking any opportunity that would present itself at the right time. He had spent hours awake, trying to shut out the unshakable love and desire tugging at the edge of his consciousness, and now he was simply masking them.

There was a steady drip somewhere in the room, moisture constantly leaking down into the dank, wet space he inhabited. Plants grew through the cracks in the hard cement, some with roots climbing the walls. It almost reminded him of home. He remained curled in his bed of soft mosses and lush grasses, the mattress he used nearly overtaken by the foliage he encouraged. In the back of his mind he could make out the cadence of her thoughts, but not the words they formed, and suddenly affection bloomed in her like a flower.

It was the same kind of emotion, that same experience, that he had never had for himself and only ever felt through her. He longed to feel that intensely for something, for someone. To feel something other than a myriad of rejections was his ultimate goal. He thought that, by saving his people, he would garner their affections and love. Succeeding in his crusade could only bring him a measure of the fullness his dear sister now felt, surely.

To know her love was to remind him of his emptiness. His sallow skin was streaked with dark ochre tracks where he’d clawed at his chest. His throat was raw from yelling at the molding walls around him. His carved face was stained with the dark yellow of his tears. His long nails were torn and splintered from scratching desperately down the cement walls of his sewer “home.” The void inside him was immeasurably heavy and it was becoming difficult to bear the burden much longer. But he could not, would not, end his suffering for it would end her joy.

The more her heart beat for another, the bigger the hole in him felt. After decades, centuries, of feeling her, he only remained a husk of a creature. How he could feel such agony with no wound was beyond his comprehension. It drove him mad. It drove him to violence.

He renewed his efforts, hollowed out the rest of himself and pushed forward in his goal single-mindedly.

His challenge to the demon was only half-hearted. The prince of Hell was hulking, formidable, and had a measure of intelligence, but he was more man than beast after being raised by humans. It would make him weak and easy to defeat. Then the elf prince would take his place and be filled with the gratitude of faerie and all its creatures. Then he could be whole.

Something in him knew, though, that what he sought was unknowable for him. He nearly begged the demon to put a stop to things because he never would. The elf prince wanted retribution, but not at the expense of his beloved sister. Someone needed to stop him, for he felt nothing more than an abject loneliness and rage. He was wholly empty inside and there was no fixing it.

The enemy the elf prince underestimated was his own kin. His sister’s desire for peace and to avoid war was stronger than he could know. She was willing to sacrifice her first and only love, her chance at something more than the blood-soaked future that he had imagined celebrating.

When he felt the cold steel of the blade as if it were in his own body, there was a moment of clarity. Though the metal never touched him, he could feel it sliding slowly, wetly, between his ribs. His breathing became difficult as she punctured their lungs and eventually shoved the short dagger home through the walls of their hearts. He stumbled as he fell, turning back to look at that beautiful sister of his, the one who felt so strongly for the both of them, and watched her pull the knife back out of her own chest before collapsing. Their eyes met and he knew it was as much a mercy for him as it was to save her beloved. Her thoughts reached out to him, holding him, telling him she knew.

In those moments he felt his hard, cold insides slowly spread and eat at his flesh. He could feel his body seize as it silently turned to a solid ivory. Finally, his appearance would mirror what he felt all the time. He would be as unyielding and cold as he’d felt all these long years.

In those moments, his deep despair turned into a weightless relief. No longer would he bear the burden of feeling someone else’s love. No longer would he carry his unspeakable emptiness and jealous rage. He was whole and stone for a brief, shining moment, before he crumbled.

At the cost of absolutely everything he had left, just like that little blue bird, the Empty Elven Prince was finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I might have been (totally was) projecting (more than) a little with this one.  
> It felt a touch cathartic to write.
> 
> The last line is a shoutout to "Lazarus":  
> This way or no way  
> You know I'll be free  
> Just like that bluebird  
> Now, ain;t that just like me  
> Oh, I'll be free  
> Just like that bluebird


End file.
